I want to write today.

Awake early with dreams like the empty of an eaten watermelon.. I want to write about the silence of not knowing what to say, when you want to say a lot and quickly. I want to write today about the many confusions of knowing many and more and more good people and having to arrange them in an order and love them in that order. I want to write about how it is impossible to put a patten onto your life and then live it, knowing the limits. I want to to write about making a choice and going at it head on and not changing, not thinking about the lose ends. Today makes me want to take my life and butcher it up, (like the movie butterfly effect) and make another mess and another mess and leaving it at a mess for I have done enough in this mess I live to experiment, and I'm not yet sure it was something I regret . Today I want to write about the intense dissatisfaction I have being myself, and being myself in the lives of people I love. Today I want to write about those feelings I am that I wish I wasn't. (Tomorrow this writing will be on of those feelings.) Today, I want to write about how much I am willing of forgetting myself sometimes, but waking early the next morning I begin to think and hate and worry again about myself. Today, to write anything, is to put down my worry, my frown, that cold shiver that went down my spine when I thought of how I loved and hated, of how I live in a country with a billion people who similarly love and hate and wake up early in the morning.. and have no teeth and are bleeding internally, or having their breakfast and leaving in a hurry, or just are reading the newspaper . Of these people, the ones I know, what have I done in their lives?

and sometimes

wanting to help someone

I don't know how honest it is.

How much is it a help

to your idea of hope.

but at least it is help to another.

and how bad can that be.